


Subclavian Steal

by FrozenPenguin



Category: Attack on Titan, Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Age Bending, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Babysitting, Character Death, Child Abuse, Continuously Edited, Dubious Consent, Gen, Ghosts, M/M, Murder Mystery, Rating May Change, Sexual Content, Supernatural Abilities, Tags May Change, WIP, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 08:14:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3167840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenPenguin/pseuds/FrozenPenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>n. Obstruction of the subclavian artery proximal to the origin of the vertebral artery. Blood flow through the vertebral artery is reversed, causing symptoms of cerebrovascular insufficiency.</p><p> “So… my angel, huh.”<br/>“Mm. He really likes holding your hand. That’s why it’s so cold all the time.”</p><p>After three years, Eren is used to ignoring Mikasa’s creative fantasies and imaginary friends. However, after she persistently insists that he has a guardian angel Eren starts paying attention to the small abnormalities in his life: among them his extreme luck, his inability to lose anything and his mysterious medical problem. And then, with the dreams and unbidden cold touches that he can’t attribute to fantasy, comes the notion that Mikasa might just be right. Or, when his so-called “angel” turns out to be a real-life person (and possibly a dead one at that), he starts dreading how she might also be very, very wrong.</p><p>An Ereri Ghost AU story based off a much sweeter Tumblr post, but with a much darker twist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The idea takes inspiration from a much sweeter Tumblr post about a little cousin who could see her older cousin’s ghost boyfriend who held her hand a lot. This story has a darker twist.
> 
> The “sexual content” tag applies for future scenes between two (technically) underage characters, depending on your point of view. This takes place in an AU in no designated country, but with more of a European foundation. The age of consent varies in Europe, but is between 14 and 16 in a majority of countries. Therefore, I have chosen not to tag this as underage. If this decision bothers you, please do not read the story.
> 
> This is also my WIP and pet project for this term. My goal is to finish it before summer, but do not expect frequent updates.
> 
> Also, this work is under continuous editing. No major changes will be made to the story line, but I will be editing sentences, rephrasing paragraphs, changing dialogue for a better flow, adjust interaction between characters and adding more detail to the story. I will make notes of my editing and warn about bigger changes in subsequent chapters.
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading this!
> 
> EDIT 14/01/2015: extensive summary added to give readers better insight to how the story might develop.
> 
> EDIT 15/01/2015: some 500 words added to chapter 1, mainly improving flow and developing the interactions between Eren and Mikasa. Also added a glimpse of Eren's parents and more detail about Eren's home environment.

**1.**

“Your hand is cold.”

Eren instinctively pulled his hand back, looking blankly at Mikasa as her words slowly registered in his mind. He had been busy wrapping a distinctive red muffler around her neck with the intention of bracing her from the still chilly bites of April. His hand must have brushed her skin.

“Sorry,” Eren said somewhat sheepishly. He then carefully finished adjusting the muffler and pulled a grey knit beanie over her ears before rising up from his knees, achy from the hardwood floor, to dress himself. Mikasa’s dark eyes followed his movements.

“It’s ok,” she replied, but otherwise said nothing.

When Eren had finished wrapping his own muffler, he turned around to find her still staring at him. He frowned softly, thinking how the intensity of her gaze sometimes made it hard to remember that she was six years old. She gave him a small smile.

“After all, it’s not your fault. It’s your angel.”

Without further ado, she marched out into the entryway to put her shoes on. Eren rolled his eyes after her while he thought that yes, she was definitely only six. He put on his own shoes and beanie and followed her out the door, locking it behind them and picking up a ball from the porch before joining her out on the pavement.

They had agreed to go to the nearby field that day to kick some footballs around, which they would both enjoy, so as soon as Eren was close enough Mikasa started walking in the designated direction. He followed, falling into pace next to her.

“Be careful with the crossings—I stop, you stop. Got it?”

“Mm,” she nodded, changing her pace a little to let Eren lead.

The air was crisp around them that Sunday afternoon. Although the trees were budding and the sun shone weakly through a light cover of clouds, it was still cold enough for the few people out on a stroll in their neighbourhood to bundle up in their warm gloves and fluffy scarves.

Glancing down at Mikasa he realised they must look like a proper pair of siblings with their nearly matching knit beanies and mufflers. Both sets were made by his mother over the winter, although Mikasa’s red scarf had been Eren’s, once upon a time (but he couldn’t quite remember when she had staked her claim on it).

The Ackerman family had moved into their inherited house just before Mikasa’s first birthday more than five years ago. They had instantly made good friends with the Jaeger family across the street: a doctor, his homemaker wife and their young son. Eren had only been nine when they first met, but, thanks to his mother’s fussing and Mrs Ackerman’s pleading smiles, he had been Mikasa’s designated babysitter ever since he turned twelve.

Now, three year later, he knew the girl well and did not really mind her company as much as he used to.

Mikasa was very mature for her age, and was eager to test her abilities against older children. Eren had witnessed her powerful kicks first-hand and knew she would make an excellent striker if she ever decided to pursue football (which she had expressed a keen interest in after going to several of Eren’s games).

However, Mikasa could also at times be a little…strange. Every now and again she would focus her intruding dark gaze on nothing in particular for long seconds at the time before moving on to something else. Other times, he had found her talking aloud, as if having conversations with the trees or the walls around her.

Eren had many times attributed it to her thinking nature and maybe detachment from her peers whose actions and pattern of thought could not keep up with hers. She had therefore made her own friends, imaginary ones; they could understand her better.

She also had no qualms in regards to sharing them with Eren. Most of the time he played along with her fantasies, asking questions about the surprisingly complex personalities she had incarnated. Other times he took it upon himself to reel in her fantasies, although this often resulted in negative feedback: a spitfire argument or a cold shoulder. In the very end they would both apologize for any rudeness, but neither would resign their words.

Perhaps Eren should not have found their little chats as entertaining as he did, but since he had to watch over her anyway, he saw no harm in indulging her and stifling his own boredom in one go – two birds, one stone. After all, he did like her a lot – the annoying little sibling he had asked his mother for when he was five, but never got in the end.

He breathed a soft hum as they made it over the first crossing on their way to the park, giving the girl a sideward glance. “So… my angel, huh.”

She nodded decisively, but kept her attention on her feet.

His lips twitched upwards in a playfully crooked smile, and he attempted again to pull her out of her shell and interest her into joining the game. “Say, Mikasa… why would an angel wanna make me feel cold? Do they flap their wings at me or something?”

Mikasa exaggeratedly rolled her eyes at that. “No, stupid. They don’t _have_ wings like in books. And no white gowns either. They look… like us,” she explained, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Also, he’s your _guardian_ angel. He doesn’t really want to make you cold, just protect you.”

“Ah, I see…” he said, feigning a tone of realisation and concealing his amusement.

“He’s always there—didn’t you know?” she asked suspiciously. Eren shrugged indifferently and Mikasa heaved a sigh. “He’s always next to you. And he holds your hand a lot...”

“Really?” This time he couldn’t stop an amused snort. “Is he doing it right now?”

Mikasa nodded again, her eyes moving to the empty space next to Eren where his left hand was hanging limply by his side. Eren’s own eyes mimicked hers as she stared on his lone left hand, a soft smile rising to her cherry lips. With a sort of childish wonder on her face, she glanced up at him and said, “I think he likes you.”

She then barely muffled a giggle as Eren unconsciously stuck his hand into his pocket.

“I don’t think he wanted me to tell you. He’s embarrassed,” she informed, and Eren found himself baffled, again, at the amount of detail she had sewn into this new character. Then again, he supposed she was around the age for making up romantic notions for the people around her. He smiled reassuringly down at her.

“Well, tell him it’s ok. I don’t mind him holding my hand and protecting me any more than before,” he assured with a wink.

“You know, he can hear you perfectly well. He’s an angel, not deaf,” she commented as they came to a stop by a crossing.

Eren imitated a sizzling sound as the lights turned. “Ouch, aren’t you a little young to be sassing like that? Oh, cross.”

“Aren’t you a little old to be asking stupid questions?” Mikasa replied smoothly as she tagged along across the road.

Eren laughed, mentally giving her a kudos for her quick replies.

“That might be true, but I am still in charge of your snack later and it’s up to me whether or not it's gonna be your favourite,” he winked at her, watching her posture stifle as the threat of blackmail sunk in. When she didn’t reply, Eren chuckled and let up on his little lie. “Relax, it’s a joke.”

After a few quiet seconds listening to the gravel crunch under their feet as they walked, Mikasa slowly turned to him again and smiled softly, “I think you made him happy.”

Eren hummed. “Oh yeah?”

She nodded. “Mm. He really likes holding your hand. That’s why it’s so cold all the time.”

“Um…” This time Eren didn’t play along quite as easily. Instead, he sighed and said, “Hey, did you know that some people just have cold hands? It’s some medical syndrome, you see. Faulty blood flow. That’s why my hand is cold.”

Mikasa didn’t bite. “Did the doctor say so?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Well, then they would have fixed it,” she insisted stubbornly.

“Not everything can be fixed that easily, Mikasa…” he tried, but she wouldn’t hear it.

“You’re doing it again,” she then accused, an irritated flush rising to her cheeks, easily visible against her pale skin. “You’re trying to tell me that your angel doesn’t exist and that I’m making him up–but he’s real. _It’s true_.”

With that last unrelenting statement, she grabbed the football from beneath his right arm and ran into the field they had finally arrived at, efficiently ending the conversation and leaving Eren to be frustrated that he had effectively lost another argument with the six-year-old.

It was, however, true that his medical condition was a mysterious one. Quite a collection of doctors and specialists, including his own father, had looked at it. They all threw some names of syndromes and disorders into the air but every test would come back negative. There was just no explaining why Eren Jaeger’s left hand was a whole lot colder than his right hand, or even his left foot.

In the end, this had never actually bothered him and once his dad was certain there was no fatal underlying cause, he had put the hospital visits behind them. Eren just went on and lived his life normally.

Giving up on his frustration, Eren went after Mikasa. He sneaked up on her and dribbled the ball away from her with minor difficulties, challenging her to steal it back, which she did (after a short couple of minute spent figuring out his footwork). Only a second later Eren stole it back again, lobbing the ball into the air for a trick while letting his triumphant laugh tease her into continuing her efforts, their previous argument forgotten for the time being.

After an hour of shooting, dribbling and playing around in the park, which left them both breathy and tired, Eren took Mikasa home and made her the promised evening snack. She watched the TV while she ate, entertained by some cartoons she decided she hadn’t outgrown yet (though the mere idea of outgrowing cartoons was ridiculous to Eren who still watched them every now and again).

As it got darker outside, Eren drew her a bath and pulled out his books to study for his test the following morning. Mikasa was bathed, fresh and ready for bedtime at 8 o’clock, and Eren watched her brush her teeth and helped her dry her hair before following her into her bedroom.

When she was finally under the covers, Eren tucked her in and bid his goodnights. However, when he was about to leave a tug on his sleeve made him pause and crouch back down to the little girl’s bedside.

“Hey, what’s up? Your parents will be here in like twenty minutes…and I’ll wait downstairs until they’re here,” he reassured her, but she shook her head quietly, signalling that this was not the issue.

Mikasa withdrew her hand and glanced up at him cautiously before drawing her breath. “I know he’s real.”

Eren exhaled through his nose. “Of course he is.”

“Really!” she cried as she sat up straight, and he could see the flush on her cheeks even though the dark of the room only lit by the dim lights out in the hallway.

Eren was about to berate her again, but this time around her determined grey eyes were so clear and intense that it took him a second to realise that they were watering up.

Eren had never seen Mikasa cry; not in front of him, not with her parents – never. Perhaps it was an odd mixture of guilt for making her so distressed and fear of her parents showing up to find that he had made their daughter cry, but he felt an urgency to quickly wipe her tears away and make her feel better.

The best way to do that was to admit his defeat, no matter how it would wound his pride. Though in the end, why was he even competing with a six-year-old?

He fought the urge to roll his eyes over his own childishness and turned to give his full attention to Mikasa.

“Hey, you…” he started softly, kindly stroking her red cheeks in an attempt to calm her down.

She took a few hitching breaths and, soon, the tears that had threatened to spill over retreated slowly, but her eyes were still glassy and her cheeks still puffy. He gave her another smile; the slightly crooked one that his mother told him was warm and inviting (and made him look quite handsome in photographs).

“Good, that’s my girl,” he cooed, tenderly ruffling her hair, earning him a small glare. He didn’t mind it. “Hey, Mikasa… I do believe you, you know.”

“Nu-uh!” she quickly retorted. “You’re only saying that because you don’t want my mum to know you made me cry.”

Eren winced. This girl was far too perceptive for her age. Swallowing quietly, he prepared to continue trying. “Ok…so, yeah, it’s a bit hard to believe I guess. But, look—that’s only because I can’t see him, yeah? Not like you. I didn’t even know he was there until you told me, right?”

He paused to make sure she was still with him. She nodded, and he continued.

“But just because I can’t see him, that doesn’t mean he isn’t real, yeah? If you are right–and you _are_ –he has been protecting me for a very long time, without me even noticing. And, like you said, that would explain why my hand is cold,” he finished, gesturing with the hand in question.

Mikasa still didn’t look quite convinced, however. She huffed and let herself fall back on her pillow, turning her gaze away from him and to the ceiling.

“Hey, what is it? Come on, beastie, tell me,” he prompted gently, even using the nickname he would call her when she was killing it out on the football field.

“It’s just,” Mikasa started. She then paused for a bit, as she turned to look at Eren—no, to look at the space _next_ to him – and continued, “He was really happy today, I think…when you talked to him. And said he could hold your hand more.” She paused for a breath. “But you don’t think he’s real, so you won’t talk to him anymore and… that’s sad…” she trailed of, and then whispered, quietly, “I think he’s lonely.”

Eren felt his face twist with guilt. The words had struck him deep.

He should have guessed Mikasa, of all kids out there, would have been capable of thinking so deeply about her characters – she obviously connected with them, and some point. The misunderstandings, the loneliness that came with being incapable of sharing her thoughts and views…she probably dealt with this daily from her classmates at school – which was why she preferred the company of her imagination, and Eren. She must feel lonely, too, just like the invisible angel she had assigned him, unable to make contact with the people right next to her.

Eren didn’t really need any other reason to make this right, even if it was a white lie – no, not a lie, but a fantasy he could play along with when he was with her, until she tired of it or eventually forgot.

_I think he’s lonely._

“Mikasa, that’s why it’s a good thing that you told me,” Eren grinned brightly, gently squeezing her tiny hand in his right one. “Now I know he’s there, protecting me, and I can show him how grateful I am, right? I can help make him happier because I know he’s there... talk to him and hold his hand and whatever else. And that’s a good thing.”

Mikasa’s dark grey orbs widened momentarily as they swept up his side for a short moment, landing on his shoulder before meeting his eyes. He was still grinning widely at her, and – finally – she smiled back.

There was a sincerely pleased glint in her eyes as she made herself comfortable under her covers again. Eren held back a sigh of relief as it seemed Mikasa had accepted his reasoning, letting her small smile speak for her.

Eren then resumed biding his goodnights, leaving her to slip into her dreams with a final ruffle of her hair. “See you later, beastie.”

“Mm.”

He softly closed the door behind him.

Once back downstairs Eren went to clean Mikasa’s dishes, and tidy up any mess they might have made, very pleased with his accomplishment. When turning to continue with his cramming, he rolled his shoulders and went to massage any sore muscles in his neck from the day, startling himself with just how cold his left hand was even after being inside for more than two hours.

He glanced suspiciously at his left hand for a full minute, testing the flexing and touching it with his other hand, considering whether or not he was concerned enough to consult his father about it.

Eventually he gave up thinking on it and got a full five algebra problems solved when he heard the footsteps on the porch, the telltale sign of the house’s masters returning home.

After updating them on Mikasa’s evening, leaving out their little argument from earlier (he was quite sure Mikasa didn’t talk to her parents about those things), Eren bid his goodnights to Mr and Mrs Ackerman who freely expressed their gratitude, promising his pay the coming Thursday.

Eren quickly crossed the street, shuddering at the cold night breeze and pulled his coat tighter around him. He noisily entered the Jaeger household and announced his return, relishing in the warmth and the wonderful smells coming from the kitchen where his parents had prepared a late-night dinner in order to accommodate his absence in the evening.

Dinner with his parents was, as usual, a calm and simple affair. His mother asked him about his afternoon with Mikasa while his father was more interested in whether he had finished the problems he had assigned him to help him study for the test. Eren answered truthfully that he hadn’t, but promised that he felt comfortable he would get a good grade.

“If you’re feeling certain,” was his father’s calm reply, after his mother chided him a little for not managing his time more properly. And Eren did feel certain.

After the meal, he said his goodnights to his parents, kissing his mother’s cheek and thanking her for her food before making his way upstairs.

His room was on the third and top floor where the slanted ceiling made for less space, but he had in return made the entire floor his little den. In addition to the small bathroom and his actual bedroom, there was a reasonably sized recreational area that Eren used more than the rest of his family. He had often suspected, judging by the amount of bedrooms in the house (five in total), that his parents had always planned for a bigger family, although it had obviously not happened. The thought of all the empty guest bedrooms on the second floor had always made him a bit queasy, even though one of them had been his until he convinced his parents to let him have the top floor three years ago. The house was far too big for just the three of them.

He shook off his train of thought once he reached the bathroom and finished his bedtime routine in a slow, unperturbed fashion. Not until he got to his bed, hair damp from his shower and the taste of toothpaste on his tongue, and went to set his alarm did he realise that he didn’t know where his phone was.

A panicked rush went through him, coiling uncomfortably in his stomach, as his mind reeled to remember where he had seen it last while he went through the day’s laundry and checked all his pockets for it. He soon gave up and started pacing pack and forth when a lightbulb finally went off in his head. He remembered putting it down on the counter in the Ackerman house when he did the dishes.

“Shit,” he muttered in his frustration, getting to his feet to put on a hoodie. He wanted to catch the family while they were still awake so he could get his phone back as quickly as possible.

However, right before he yanked open his bedroom door a familiar tune rang from the front pocket of his backpack. Eren froze as he recognized it as his message alert, and he quickly reached for the book-loaded bag.  Unzipping the pocket, he found the familiar screen shining up at him; a message from Jean was flashing across it.

**Horse-face *neigh, neigh***

_Today, 22:43_

_Photo attached_

hey eren, how did u do this interval

“Oh thank fuck,” he breathed, a sigh of relief rushing through him. He didn’t bother to answer the message, instead only trusting his shaky fingers to set his alarm.

Only when he was in bed, tucked under his covers and slowly dozing off, did he think that maybe it was a little strange that he had put his phone into a pocket he had never used for anything else before.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, thank you for reading so far! I hope you're enjoying reading this as much as I enjoy writing this - I hadn't planned on an update today, but here we are.
> 
> Before I move on, I wanted to talk a little about how I see the characters. Some people might find them a bit OOC in this AU, but I personally like the way I've thought them out.  
> See, in Mikasa's case I wanted her character to be similar to the one she was in canon before her parents were murdered. In this story that obviously didn't happen, but she still has to deal with the same loneliness her post-death-of-parents self did. Her character is therefore a strange mix of the two. The same is the case for most of the characters, with the exception of maybe Levi... but I'll get back to him later, definitely.
> 
> Without further ado... please enjoy chapter 2!

**2.**

Armin Arlert had already expected it to happen since the end of that morning’s math test. Hence, he wasn’t at all surprised, albeit a bit startled, when Jean Kirstein’s heavy backpack slammed down on top of their lunch table, shaking any item already on it. Armin had to stumble halfway onto the table himself in order to save an opened bottle of iced tea that was threatening to fall and spill its contents.

“ _Man!_ I totally flunked that test, _for sure_ ,” groaned Jean, an apathetic look on his longish face as he slumped down into an empty seat. He deliberately ignored Armin’s annoyed scowl in favour of bringing out his own lunch: one of the canteen sandwiches (which were actually very delicious, but also very expensive), a pack of vinegar crisps and a carton of apple juice.

“Jean, what the heck,” Armin began when his silent reprimanding wasn’t acknowledged, but Jean was talking over him.

“I mean, I know I’m shit at math right—and it’s not like I’m gonna need those damn integrals anyway. But still—I actually tried studying for this, but everything just jumped on the train to Fuck-Ville anyway!” he rambled on while shaking his apple juice. He paused to unscrew the cap and took a long sip, briefly satisfied by the fresh taste. He then put the carton down, glaring accusingly across the table. “No thanks to _you_ , Jaeger.”

Eren, who sat right next to Armin, hadn’t done more than flinch when Jean made his boisterous entrance. His cloudy eyes were staring blankly out the windows across the room, and he only shook out of his stupor when his blond best friend nudged his side and called his name a second time.

“Oh… yeah,” he mumbled, his eyebrows knitting together in puzzlement as he tried to remember exactly what he was supposed to answer to.

Jean seethed. “What the fuck, Eren? I sent you that text last night asking for some help from my goddamn friend. Not only did your lazy ass not bother to text me back, but you aren’t even sorry that I might be failing this class because of you!”

“That’s not his fault, Jean,” Armin protested on the behalf of his friend, intending to douse down the argument that was bound to erupt between the two.

Eren, however, did not take the bait, as he was expected to. Instead, he ended up surprising the two of them with a calm apology. “Ah…yeah, sorry ‘bout that.”

Both Jean and Armin sat still for a moment, staring at him with a mixture of sheer awe and wariness on their faces. All the while, Eren seemed entirely oblivious to their astonishment, rubbing some pus out of his eye and nearly failing to stifle an uncharacteristic yawn.

Armin shot Jean a worried glance, which the taller teen returned, quietly agreeing that something wasn’t quite right with their friend. Eren was usually a ball of uncontained energy by the time they had lunch together, even after big tests like the one they had that morning. This tired, uncaring air and look of apathy wasn’t like their friend at all.

“Eren, what’s wrong?” Armin asked cautiously.

Eren had resumed looking out the window, a frown settling on his face. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just a bit beat, is all.”

“You, beat? I thought I’d never see the day—” Jean sputtered, but shut up when Armin kicked his leg under the table.

“Did you do badly on the test? Or go to sleep late?” Armin tried again. Eren exhaled quietly and shook his head.

“No, the test was fine… and I slept for like seven hours,” he promised, scratching at his head and ruffling his brown locks into place. He then looked between the two, mildly annoyed with how concerned they were when he had given them no obvious reason. He glared tiredly at them, trying to convey his irritation through his expression alone. “Honestly guys, what’s gotten into you? I just had a bad sleep. I’m not on drugs or dying of constipation or whatever—”

He was stopped by his own yawn; unable to stifle it this time, he covered his mouth and wiped his moist eyes with the back of his hand.

“Eren,” Armin tried once again, but the brunet shot him a sharp look asking him to let it go. Armin obeyed not because he wanted to do as his friend asked when something was clearly off that day, but because there was a harsh and somewhat loathsome glint in Eren’s dark green eyes that he had never seen before, and it froze his train of thought in its tracks.

With Armin silenced, Eren turned to Jean, his eyes now sharply narrowed. “So yeah, sorry for not replying to your shitty text – my fault. But next time, maybe send it a few hour earlier. More of a chance that I’ll actually be awake to bother saving your sorry ass,” he spat sourly at the long faced teen, and didn’t give him any time to reply before standing up from the table.

“H-Hey, where are you going?” Jean asked hurriedly. He was not at all following the situation and didn’t comprehend exactly what had just happened.

“To take a long dump.”

Jean flinched at the crude answer, “Gosh, too much information, bastard.”

“Then don’t be so damn noisy, horse-face,” the brunet retorted, already walking towards the glass double doors and out of the canteen.

Armin regained control over his tongue and was about to speak up, but stopped as soon as he had taken the breath, deciding against it. In the end, he settled for letting his anxious gaze follow his friend until he disappeared out the doors and down the hallway. He cast his glassy blue eyes back down to stare on the tabletop, busying his hands by playing with the straw from his small carton of milk, worrying it in and out of the hole it was designed for while trying to sort out his scrambling thoughts.

Had something happened to Eren since he last saw him on Saturday? He couldn’t help but wonder.

If it had been something in the family, Armin knew he would have been the first one to know. He could safely rule out injury or health issues. If it was something about Eren himself… well, there was no reason for him not to say anything, but if something really had happened he might not have wanted to talk about it in the cafeteria of all places. But that still left his drastic personality change, and Armin did like to think he knew Eren better than most people did.

The blond could have kept reasoning with himself, until Eren’s eventual return, but Jean didn’t stay quiet for long. As soon as Eren was gone he exclaimed, “What the fuck just happened! Since when does Eren talk like that?”

Armin shook his head. Ultimately, it was not as if he hadn’t seen Eren angry before – it didn’t take much to rile him up, and Jean was always around to do the job – but not like this. Eren was all boisterous words and loud, heated arguments. Not venomous scowls and cold insults.

Jean heaved a sigh, looking down at his lunch. “It wasn’t even that late. I texted him at like eight. No need to blow a fuse,” he mumbled, more to himself than to Armin, trying somehow to justify his own actions. Huffing he ripped the wrapper off his sandwich and took a big bite, continuing his grumbling as he chewed. After swallowing he looked up again and said, “Well, whatever. He’ll stop venting by tonight. Annie will probably beat the wits out of him if he does his rebel thingy during practise.”

Armin felt the corner of his lips twitch at Jean’s lighter outlook, unable to disagree.

Jean hummed, scratching a spot behind his ear as he looked around the room. “Say, where’s Connie and Sascha, anyway?”

“Oh, um… they were going off campus for food, they’ll probably be here soon,” Armin replied, and Jean groaned again.

“Really? They could have asked me to tag along before leaving! I could really use a burger right about now. What the heck. I need better friends – no offence Armin, you’re cool.”

“None taken,” the blond chippered, giving the other teen an amused smile.

He kept listening to Jean’s ranting, about football and the girl in his social sciences class, but his mind kept wandering back to Eren and his strange behaviour, hoping that Jean was right and that he’d get over it by the end of the day.

-

Jean had been kind of right: by their PE class at the end of the day, Eren was back to his normal self.

The energy had returned to his face, eyes shining a brighter green as they followed the birdie; he delivered it underhandedly over the net with a soft flick of his racket. Sascha and her teammate, Krista, on the other side weren’t quick enough to save it, and Eren celebrated his point with a fist-pump and triumphant shout. He gave Armin a high-five before getting back into position.

“Good serve,” Eren offered as the birdie went over, then rushed up front to catch Krista’s attempt at tipping it over the net.

As they kept playing the game, the sound of soles squeaking on the floor and their classmates shouting across the hall filling in the background, Armin decided to voice his concern.

“Hey, about earlier…” he trailed off, passively inviting his friend to pick up the thread.

Eren hit the birdie again with a wince on his face, more from the tone of his friend’s voice than the actual exertion of the sport. Glancing over his shoulder, he gave Armin an apologetic look, worrying his bottom lip with his canine. “Ah, yeah… sorry about that. I don’t know what got into me.”

“It’s ok,” Armin smiled, pleased with the apology, but he struggled to deliver the birdie back when it came straight at him and eventually failed. The girls cheered for their match point, prompting him to give it back so they could serve.

“Thanks,” Eren said, returning the smile as Armin hit the birdie back. He then frowned, worrying his lip again as if something was troubling him, before he admitted, “I’ve just… not been feeling ok today.”

Eren made quick work of the next attack, rapidly stealing one, and then two points from the girls, yet careful not to overexert himself. It wouldn’t do him any good to show up to football that evening unable to do a throw-in because he wrecked his wrist in a school badminton session. Now the match point was theirs. Sascha failed to defend against his last smash earning the boys their victory.

After some moans and congratulatory handshakes, they started a second match, but only got a couple of points into it before a whistle sounded through the hall as the class neared its end.

“Ok, let’s wrap this up!” their PE instructor called, prompting them to collect the equipment and sweep the floors.

Armin and Eren got together to roll up the net from the court they were using while Sacha and Krista dragged the portable poles with them towards the equipment storage.

“Do you want to talk?” Armin offered as he neatly started folding his end of the net, picking up their conversation again, which Eren anticipated he would do.

“Yeah… well, I don’t know,” he said with a defeated sigh. “I just haven’t felt like myself all day.”

“In what way?” Armin prompted gently, feeling more confident knowing that Eren was back to talking and trusting him again.

Eren shook his head. “I don’t know, I’ve just been tired and angry, like no one’s understanding what I’m feeling or thinking,” he tried to explain. He then slumped with an awkward smile on his face. “Which is stupid really. You always get me just fine.”

Armin couldn’t conceal a proud grin. “Of course. That’s why I’m your best friend.”

Eren grinned back and picked up the now folded net. Armin trailed after him, with the rackets and birdies in his arms, as he carried it into the equipment room. “I was being an ass to Jean – not that he wasn’t being one, but I’m better than that,” Eren confessed as he hung the net in its designated place.

“I can’t say you’re wrong,” Armin said truthfully, “but don’t beat yourself up over it. I think Jean was over it by the time lunch ended.”

Eren hummed his agreement, but remained quiet as they exited the storage and turned to walk towards the boys’ locker-room.

“I had a weird dream,” Eren suddenly blurted after a few moments of silent trotting.

Armin blinked away his surprise. “A dream, you say?” Again, Eren nodded.

“Yeah, a dream… but it was a really strange one,” the brunet explained, glancing over at his friend who prompted him to go on. He exhaled, thinking about how to phrase himself, but, in the end, he just decided to jump head first into it. “Ok, so, I was, like, _talking_ to myself. You see, well… shit, let me try again. It was kind of a dream where you’re not really anywhere specific, you know. Kind of like floating, yet knowing you’re in a room…but you can’t open your eyes to see the room, so it’s just bright flashes, as if you’re squinting really hard… does this make sense?”

Armin nodded slowly, also changing the pace down to a relaxed shuffle, knowing this could take a little while, and Eren needed someone to listen to him. “So, floating darkness and white flashes, feeling you’re in a room. So far, so good.”

Eren couldn’t help a small grin, appreciating his friend’s patience. “Ok, yeah…and I was talking—not really to myself, I guess. More like to _me_ … it was kind of as if I was someone else, and this someone else was talking to me. Like, my voice was all deep and stuff and I didn’t get most of what I was saying. It was just a lot of mumbling, or maybe my dream just muffled it out—but I said my name a lot. Well, maybe twice… but I heard that. I was calling out to me, like I wanted my attention for some reason, and then… I woke up,” he finished, gesturing helplessly out into the empty air with his hands.

Armin hummed in thought, quickly processing Eren’s story. “What happened when you woke up?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Eren shrugged. “My alarm went off, and it was like six-forty. I felt like crap though, like I hadn’t really been sleeping at all.”

“And then the rest of the day…” Armin murmured.

“…I felt like an angst-y asshole,” Eren finished; he then heaved a sigh as they came to stop by the locker-room door. “Hey, thanks for listening. It helped a lot, and I’ve felt much better since… after lunch, I guess.”

“No problem,” Armin smiled. “Just warn me next time you feel like you’re being possessed by a misunderstood entity, ok?”

Eren laughed at his little joke and opened the door for them, the events of the day forgotten in favour for thoughts about getting home to a nice, hot meal as soon as possible.

-

Eren had always been serious about football.

He hadn’t had his first supporter gear before he even had actual clothes, as some families could probably claim about their little children. In fact, he couldn’t really remember exactly how he got into it. His father wasn’t much of a supporter (his mother knew more about the sport than he did) and he didn’t really have any influence other than the kids out on his street when growing up. No matter how he had ended up liking it, he had grown to love the sport.

To say he was serious about it didn’t mean that he was a natural at it. In fact, anything he was good at, from lobbing and hat tricks, to shooting and dribbling, was the result of a dizzyingly high amount of hours put into practice, practice and more practice.

Eren as a player was a product of inspirational hard work. He kept going, and going, and refused to give up until his muscles were aching and he had trouble breathing with the blood thundering through his lungs. This had been a problem when he was younger, inexperienced and ready to do anything, and very likely to get hurt in the process. He had been lucky that nothing serious had ever happened. As his coach from his middle school league had told his parents, he had been a “sports accident waiting to happen”.

He had also been lucky with his current coaches: they were the ones that had taught him how to limit himself. Reiner and Bertolt were both A-league players for the city’s biggest club and students at the local university. Though their lives were busy as it was their passion for the sport was undying; therefore, their free time was mostly spent coaching Eren’s team.

Their friend Annie had taken over the girls’ team, striking awe and inspiration in the hearts of aspiring players like Sascha. From time to time, they would help each other out for a greater benefit, which worked especially well since Annie was the only striker among them and also the most successful player. The previous year she had led her own team to place third in the league’s championship. Currently, she was among the top players in the country suspected to receive an invitation from the national women’s team within the end of the next season.

Eren had witnessed her skills close up and personal during the first practice he had with their new team of coaches: she had served his own arse to him, first by dribbling him into spinning like a carousel until he stumbled on himself and onto his bum. The only comfort he could take from the extremely humiliating episode was that she did exactly the same thing to Reiner a minute later. It was even more impressive to watch, especially since Reiner was probably three times her size, and two heads taller.

Nevertheless, he did believe he had earned his coaches’ respect. While they had taught him self-control, he had made an impression with his sheer willpower and drive.

Annie would occasionally give him one-on-one lessons, which he appreciated even though they were few and far in-between. Bertolt didn’t really talk much, but he always gave him useful feedback on his position relative to the defence.

He knew Reiner especially liked his guts. Perhaps he was more partial, because they both played the midfield, although Eren was prone to switch between the forward positions as well. Reiner also did some of his university internships on the other side of town. Eren’s house was therefore on his way to the indoor field they used during the cold season and while the grass was still growing greener outside, and he would, therefore, often pick up Eren and Armin for practise on Mondays and Wednesdays.

On those days, Armin would come over to Eren’s after school for homework and a light dinner. Carla was always delighted to share her cuisine outside of her little family, and his father was always pleased to have Armin, a top-of-the-class student, do schoolwork with his son.

They hadn’t talked more about Eren’s dream that afternoon, as it didn’t bother him anymore. Their spare time was spent playing a few games on Eren’s consoles while waiting for Reiner to pick them up. His blond friend was handing his arse to him on the football related ones – unsurprisingly, Eren thought.

Armin was, officially, a member of the team, but spent most of his time on the bench. He did all the exercises and practiced with his other teammates, but his true skills lay in coming up with plays and tactics for defeating their opponents in a match. Unofficially he was their manager and assistant-coach. No one ever complained, mostly because they had all collectively ran out of fingers to count the times Armin’s ideas had worked in their favour.

Eren also liked having his best friend on the team, seeing how this was something they both enjoyed. Their boyhood dream had been to become star players and travel the world to win games and see the sights. Now they had long since realised there was only a slim chance for either one of them to succeed, and new plans and dreams were already in the works – but they still enjoyed having this one common interest together.

“What’s up, guys,” Reiner greeted with a friendly grin as they got into his renovated minivan, Armin in the front and Eren in the backseat.

Whereas Annie and Bertolt both referred to them as “boys” or various versions of “brats” (all in good humour), Reiner always spoke to them on a more mutual level. This could have been credited to the fact that he probably felt more attached to them, and their youth, than his friends. Bertolt often scolded him for forgetting to act like the adult he was in the circumstances of coaching, but most of the team had come to accept that their coach was really just an overgrown kid at times.

Once they had exchanged their greeting, the burly blond enthusiastically prompted, “Hey, did you guys see the game on Sunday? The last twenty minutes were _wicked!_ ” and thus the rest of the ride was filled with a deep discussion on whether or not Smith’s choice of switching out Bozado for Shultz had cost him the game.

Armin and Eren were still talking about the remains of their discussion while tying their shoes and doing their stretches when Jean and Connie Springer jogged over, the former with a confident smirk on his face as they approached the duo.

“Hi guys! What ’cha talking ‘bout?” Connie beamed casually, and Armin gladly shared his thoughts on how Gunther Shultz really had a lot of undiscovered talent and leader instinct that he needed more time to work on out on the grass.

While the two kept talking and trading theories and observations about their favourite players Jean plopped down next to Eren and started on his own stretches. A short silence grew between them.

“So, did that dump you had help get rid of your shitty personality?” Jean suddenly blurted, and Eren couldn’t stop a massive eye-roll at the implied pun. He didn’t say anything though, and was somewhat pleased with himself as he watched the confidence slip off the other teen’s face, replaced with an ill-fitting uncertainty. Jean now carefully asked, “I mean, um… are we ok?”

The sincerity in his voice actually surprised Eren, and he realised how much his acting out that morning must really have bothered his friends. He quickly swallowed his guilt, however. There was no use in dwelling in the past. Instead, he looked up at Jean with an entirely unamused expression, but was unable to hold onto his mask when Jean’s lip twitched awkwardly. As his grin grew Jean’s look of mild annoyance did too, but ultimately they both knew that yes, they were ok.

For the additional effect of the insult, Eren also added aloud, “Of course we are, you damn horse-face.”

“You damn bastard—” Jean began his throwback, but he was interrupted when Reiner called them over to start warmups.

Eren flashed him another grin. “Wanna race me?”

“Oh my god, Eren… they are called warmups for a reason,” Jean protested, but when Eren called “first man to hit the crossbar” and took off he was still rushing after him to make sure that he was the one who reached that damn crossbar first.

-

When Eren had gotten home that night, he had been too tired for anything but a shower and a pair of clean underwear to sleep in.

The exhaustion had hit him like a brick the moment he had stepped back into his room, and he had just barely summoned the will to get beneath the covers before sleep claimed him, hair still damp and body flushed from the warm water.

What a stupid idea that had been was, therefore, the first thing to cross his mind when he awoke sometimes during the night to the feeling of a cold room and a chill dancing over his skin.

His first reaction had been to turn over on his side and pull the covers tighter to conserve heat. _Better_ , his sleep infused consciousness supplied, but even as he tried to lull himself back to sleep, he knew in the back of his mind that something was different. Very different, and perhaps even _wrong_.

A soft, cold touch to the back of his sensitive neck was what it took to startle him awake.

At first, he waited patiently for it to go away, for it wasn’t a sudden or unpleasantly cold, and he was toying with the idea of how it might just have been his senses playing a trick on him, or a draft from the window.

But it didn’t go away. Even as his patience wore thin, the coolness still lasted. Instead, the touch was _moving_.

It was still soft, still gentle, like a feather against his skin, but now it was pressing and disappearing, but never quite gone before pressing back down a bit further away. As they moved from the back of his neck and started up his throat, steadily moving at a randomized pattern Eren started to realise that this was not a natural occurrence or physiological effect from his body in response to the cold.

Not before the touch reached the space behind his ear did Eren’s mind, young and inexperienced as it was, identify exactly what this was.

 _Kisses,_ he thought. _Someone’s kissing me._

The rush of the realisation came just as the next touch enclosed the part of his ear just above the lobe, wringing a startled gasp out of the brunet.

As his body finally caught up with him, he immediately applied his regained control to the task of wringing himself away from whatever stranger was there, in his room, doing _these things_ to him. He was unsuccessful, and soon recognised that the chill from before, the one he had felt _even underneath a duvet and a comforter_ , was a collection of limbs – an entire body, in fact – that was entangled with his.

Eren’s only success had been trashing his head away from the lips ( _lips, oh god, they were someone’s lips_ ) enclosing his ear only to have the foreign mouth reattach to his neck, bolder and more forceful than before.

He felt his face flush and a tremble went through him as the assault continued. His voice was stuck in his throat, and, even if it not, Eren wouldn’t have known how to use it. There was someone in his bed, holding him down and using his body, and he had never been so scared in his life.

What was worse was the way every touch of those feathery lips sent sparkles trailing beneath his skin and through the rest of him, and the excitement and the enjoyment that followed were, to Eren, even scarier than the stranger behind him administrating these feelings. He didn’t want this. It didn’t matter that it felt nice, and that this was the first time in his young life that anyone had willingly touched him so intimately outside a game or a dare. It didn’t matter that as the touches grew bolder his breathing grew more laboured, and that his skin felt more tingly and the air more heady as a particular harsh kiss brought a gasp past his lips, because, in the end, _he did not want this_.

“Not like this,” he breathed urgently, and only realised he had regained his voice when the touches stopped and slowly withdrew.

When he realised this his muscles tensed, and, feeling more in control than ever before, Eren clenched his hands into fists and braced himself, and with a feral gleam in his eyes, he threw his weight around ready to assault whoever was there…

…only to find nothing.

The moonlight drizzled through his windows where he had forgotten to draw the curtains, lighting up his room and his belongings. They were all laying wherever he’d left them, his bag in the corner, the laundry strewn around the floor, his shoes in front of the door…and there was no one there, but Eren.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't be afraid to talk to me about my writing, or characters, ships (I'm a shameless multishipper) and SNK in general (or anything else really!). My tumblr and my e-mail are both in my AO3 profile if you want to chat!


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